


The Royal We

by Vehuel



Category: Venom (Movie 2018)
Genre: Eddie is barely there, How Do I Tag, Hungry Venom Symbiote (Marvel), My headcanons come to play, Venom is a cutie, Venom is a it without a host, Venom is pissed for half this thing, Venom point of view
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-22
Updated: 2018-10-22
Packaged: 2019-08-05 20:37:39
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,247
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16374626
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vehuel/pseuds/Vehuel
Summary: An experiment, it had become.A test subject, to be kept under lock and key.A thing, something to be exploited for others’ gain.Never.Never.





	The Royal We

**Author's Note:**

> I got the feelings

 

 

It was feeling cold, in the tank.

The container wasn’t tight, per se, but it still preferred the rush of free air, the ever-changing smells brought forth by the breeze, the heat of the stars on its skin..

It was cold, in the tank.

The laboratory was still and quiet at that time of the night shift, the lighting brought down to bluish shadows, the refrigeratory system kicked up like it would help preserve the ‘specimens’.

An experiment, it had become.

A test subject, to be kept under lock and key.

A _thing_ , something to be exploited for others’ gain.

Never.

**Never.**

The chief one, the one who walked and acted and talked with authority and thought everything was due to him, spoke of his plans freely in front of it and its brethren, like they were incapable of understanding.

Of intellect.

That pissed it off.

It was inside a little tank, closed in with no way out – and it had tried, oh how it had tried, for endless hours and days blending together, from the moment it had come forth from its slumber it had tried to smash the glass to pieces, to get out, to escape the prison it was in because it wouldn’t tolerate it no longer – and the coldness of the lab seemed to pour into the very fabric of its being.

It could withstand it, it had felt far worse temperatures, but it was still unpleasant.

Coupled with the close quarters and the forced merging it had been forced to endure that very morning, it was shaped to be a very pissed amorphous.

They had tried to force it to become a they.

How dare they. How dare.

It wouldn’t just **bond** with the first being brought forth. It had standards, and it wouldn’t cave just because its living conditions were less than ideal right now.

Not even the distant threat of death would dissuade it.

But the **hunger** could.

With every passing day without a feeding, without sustenance and with its form growing weaker, it was starting to reconsider its resolve.

Not completely, of course.

To bond was to share one self with another, to become one, to become **more**.

It wouldn’t do it under duress, or without finding a match.

But it could fake it, for a bit. Just enough to nibble on something…

 

 

-

 

 

As soon as a chance gleamed on the bleak existence its current existing had become, it took it.

Not being bonded to the meat sack it was wearing meant it couldn’t _know_ what its host knew, just get a glimpse of current thoughts and memories brought forth at the present.

The meat sack _knew_ the man currently loitering inside the laboratories and outside its cell – a new one, a bigger one, one where the meat suit could stretch their legs and it could move around more freely, but no free air there, no breeze, no sky nor stars nor **freedom** – and just the sight of him was enough to evoke thoughts of relief and memories of fondness and mischief, laughs stolen at corners of dirty streets and companionship despite miserable fates. Despite their broken psyche, the meat sack still had good memory.

It knew it could exploit it.

It wanted **out** , and it would take every chance it could at it.

It needed just a few seconds of contact, not even a full minute, and it slithered hurriedly from one skin to another, meat changing texture and flavour and consistency, and melted right through it, rushing and gathering along muscles and nerves and drinking in all that wonderful _adrenaline_ , fear so _sweet_ after months of starvation and the hibernation before it, the small feeding it had leached out of the previous meat suit a relief but also _not enough_.

It wanted to rest, to curl up around the main beating pulp in the new host’s body and succumb to the atom-deep exhaustion it had been feeling since it had realised its condition, bask in the warmth of this new outfit, so much warmer and firm and healthier – despite the damages it had encountered in the major hubs along the way – than the previous one, the heat such a contrast to the **_cold_** of its cells that it almost let the drowsiness take it, almost went under and disconnected.

But it couldn’t.

It – **they** – still had to get out of the prison and the host needed it, it knew it, so it forced itself to stay alert and awake despite the shakiness of its essence, despite the ache gathering while it forced the new appendages to move faster, climb higher, grip harder.

Only after the host was modestly safe, when the chemical output of the higher bowels went back to optimal levels, it allowed itself to curl up, like it had wanted, around the slowing-to-normal pump in the higher part of the suit’s body.

It slipped under, finally _warm_ and **safe** after months of imprisonment. At least for a little while.

 

 

-

 

 

Curled around warm organs, it watched. It watched the new suit – no, person, _man, **host**_ – go about his life, none the wiser about the alien that had seeped through the pores of his skin, now using his body as a new home.

It felt natural, right.

The previous meat sacks had felt its presence at once – not that it had tried to hide, so full of ire it had wanted to tear, maim, _kill_ because _how dare they_ – and it was a new experience to keep quiet, to rest, to heal.

It nibbled on the host’s internal gateways, but just a bit, enough to barely sate the hunger, because it felt _right_.

This suit.

This host.

His cells had welcomed it with ease, at first wary and then welcoming, allowing it to slither deep enough to feed off the host’s strength, and for once, the hunger didn’t feel atom-deep.

Didn’t feel all-consuming, all-overpowering.

No, it felt _sated, warm, **content**_.

The human went about his day and, as he shivered, it didn’t think twice about how it reflexively reacted by humming reassuringly in the man’s chest, or spread its form along his limbs to share its new-found warmth.

 

 

-

 

 

Even when the host realised its presence, even as it perceived the other’s panic and fear, his body didn’t reject it, not really.

It had never felt wonder before.

It had seen galaxies and nebulas and the birth and death of stars, had seen its own offsprings grow and learn and make their own path, but this wonder, this particular brand of awe, it had never felt before.

To be so accepted, subconsciously, by a host.

To be cradled by the very meat and blood it had tried to seize.

To feel its strength return, faster than ever, as its metabolism was for the first time fully supported by another’s.

It felt **right**.

It didn’t dare hope.

It couldn’t.

 

 

-

 

 

No more.

As it realised it had found what it needed, what it _missed_ , it was taken from it.

But now it was strong enough, _determined_ enough, to get it back.

No more.

It wanted its host back, and it would succeed.

It didn’t want to feel empty again.

No more.

Thus it hijacked bodies, jumped vessels, forced itself inside incompatible meat sacks to reach its goal.

And as they got together, as they fought together, talked to each other, _affection_ growing and _bond_ deepening, it finally allowed itself to settle.

Alone never again.

Finally whole.

_Eddie, **we** are **Venom**._

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Does any of you have any idea how difficult it is to keep up the 'it'? I had to backtrack a lot because I kept writing 'he'.


End file.
